Are Not The Mountains, Waves, And Skies

My Native Land, Good Night!

The Waves Were Dead; The Tides Were In Their Grave, The Moon, Their Mistress, Had Expir'd Before; The Winds Were Wither'd In The Stagnant Air, And The Clouds Perish'd; Darkness Had No Need Of Aid From Them-she Was The Universe.

I Really Cannot Know Whether I Am Or Am Not The Genius You Are Pleased To Call Me, But I Am Very Willing To Put Up With The Mistake, If It Be One. It Is A Title Dearly Enough Bought By Most Men, To Render It Endurable, Even When Not Quite Clearly Made Out, Which It Never Can Be Till The Posterity, Whose Decisions Are Merely Dreams To Ourselves, Has Sanctioned Or Denied It, While It Can Touch Us No Further.

Smiles Form The Channels Of A Future Tear.

For Through The South The Custom Still Commands The Gentleman To Kiss The Lady's Hands.